The following is a ghostly account that happened to my mother. You may note, this is written in the first person and is in short story format. I recently wrote this piece for the Hamilton Spectator's short story contest. Enjoy.

The Deceiver

It was cold outside. A fresh blanket of snow had fallen during the night and the fields were like endless clouds, fresh and fluffy. I had risen to let my puppy out; she was dancing by the back door, desperate to be released into the morning snow.

I turned back into the kitchen feeling the breeze swirl my nightgown and the cold linoleum under my bare feet. I reached for a canister of tea and just happened to glance outside to see my dog running away into the fields. She was chasing a man.

I dropped what I was doing and grabbed a pair of large boots from the mud room. I threw on an overcoat as I dashed out into the brisk morning air. I called immediately for the dog to stop but she was no more than a few months old, obedience was not her forte. So, I called to the man instead, asking him to stop, telling him my dog was following along and I needed to get her back to the house. But the stranger continued, pressing on ahead in the deep snow.

I could hear my own breath and the crunching of my footsteps; snow occasionally fell down into my boots. I held my coat and nightgown together, hoisting them up as I ran. I called and called. My dog never paused for a rest; the man never turned around. I wondered if he might be foreign, perhaps he didn't understand me. But surely, even someone who spoke not a word of my language would be able to detect the urgency in my voice. If only out of curiosity, he should have responded in some way to my demands.

That's when I felt it. There was a stillness, a banality in the morning air. I began to feel uneasy about following this stranger any further. The fields around us stretched out for miles and miles. I glanced back from where I'd come and realized I was too far out- I had crossed enough space that the horizon line had eliminated my view of the house. I felt sick then, sick with a fright that was coiling in my belly. I felt as if the whole scene I'd participated in was a lure, a plot to get me out from the safety of my home. I felt the sweeping sensation of fear, and in that moment the man in the distance stopped.

Between me and the stranger, the dog came to a halt. She was closer to me than to him-, which I was thankful for. I had stopped shouting, too winded and choked to speak. All was silent save for the sounds of my heavy breathing and the roaring apprehension in my head. The moment began to stretch, and I noticed that the man's head was turning... oh-so slowly.

Over his right shoulder, he peered. He didn't seem to be looking at anything until his eyes met mine. I shivered to the core as he held my stare; his dark eyes were those of a liar, a deceiver. I still couldn't move. I was captivated in the length of the moment, paralyzed by the fear deep down in my bones. I noticed a slight shift in his regard as the man began to smile. The corners of his lips pulled in and he grinned at me. It was sinister. Fresh snow was falling again, lending to the sensation of being suspended in time. He stared into me, smiling for what felt like forever.

Finally he slowly turned away again and I lunged for my dog. I slipped the belt from my coat and tied it to her collar and we made our way back in the snow, following our own footsteps. I was shaking, but the cold was the last thing on my mind. I started to think of how strangely he'd been dressed- no winter coat, shoes instead of boots. This was not someone who was prepared to wander deeper and deeper into endless fields. The realization only made me more queasy.

With my dog in tow, I could just see the house ahead; but a morbid thought crossed my mind, forcing me to look back. When I had lurched for my dog, I had not noticed him move or walk any further. The stranger had stood stock still in the snow.

Time screeched to a halt as I turned around... there was no one in the field.

We had not been near the road, or even close to a gully or dip in the land. I could see for miles in all directions. My eyes fell to the snow and traced our awkward footsteps back to where the standoff had occurred. Mine were obvious, large, clumsy boot-marks marred the landscape. Ahead were the thin lines of my puppy's gait. Beyond them was nothing. Everywhere else the snow was pristine, unspoiled, no other footfalls had wrecked the smooth surface.

I tugged my makeshift leash and lead my puppy back home. Once inside, I shed the coat and boots and walked over to the couch. I sat down and drew my frozen feet underneath me. The dog went on with her day without me.

There I sat, motionless, wishing I were not so alone.

Dana

 

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